


Opportunities Are Like Sunrises

by dragonofdispair



Series: Morning [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: (inappropriate use of cookware), Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, Improvised Sex Toys, Knotting, M/M, Master/Pet, Oral Knotting, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Pre-War, Restraints, Safewords, Sex Toys, Spike Mods, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: Jazz and Prowl celebrate his transfer to IA with a quiet night in. Very quiet. (That’s what the ball gag is for.)
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: Morning [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553491
Comments: 19
Kudos: 84





	Opportunities Are Like Sunrises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rizobact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/gifts).



> Beta’d by Ladydragon76

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

# Part One

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

.

.

.

“Thank you,” Jazz finished up the short conversation by finally signing for the package. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in and have a drink?”

“No thank you,” the deliverymech said with a cough, missing the suppressed moan of aroused protest even Jazz could only barely hear coming from deeper in the apartment. “More deliveries. I’m on a schedule.”

“Of course.” Jazz hadn’t expected his offer to be accepted.

Hefting the package under his arm, Jazz bumped the door closed with his hip, humming a tune as he did so. He'd ordered this a while ago and he was happy to finally have it in his hand.

He detoured to the kitchen and set the package down on the counter to make himself a drink. He took his time with it. A crystal-flavored syrup and two drams of different high-grade blends went into the shaker. Instead of ice, he used a frozen cube of sweetened midgrade. He popped the top of the shaker, then tested that it was secure before he began shaking vigorously.

It took a few kliks as rather than just giving it a quick shake to cool it, he shook the drink to completion. Only when the midgrade was fully incorporated did he stop and pour his cocktail into a tall, thin stemmed glass. He garnished it with a long swizzle stick and a pair of homemade gummy candies. Then he popped one more candy into the bottom of the frothy slush for good measure.

Very nice.

Juggling his drink and his package, Jazz sauntered out into the living room. There Prowl waited for him, and _that_ was a very nice image indeed.

Supine on the couch, Prowl was bound with his hands above his head and his legs wide open. One leg was up on the back of the couch to force him to spread them as wide as possible. Pleading, desperate optics gazed up at Jazz imploringly. A thin thread of drool leaked from around the ball gag shoved deep into Prowl’s mouth, keeping him from making any noise beyond a needy, shamed whine.

“No guests this time, pet,” Jazz mocked lightly. “Guess I get you all to myself tonight.”

Prowl’s hands clenched and he shuddered. It was a mix of desire and shame that was a little heady for Jazz to watch. Jazz had tolerated a lot from his patrons in order to con them out of their assets, but Prowl… Prowl enjoyed being treated like the plaything Jazz would never be again.

Primus, he loved him. He was lucky to have him.

Jazz set the package down and caressed Prowl’s overheated plating. His fingers trailed over Prowl’s chest and down his belly. Prowl did his best to arch into the touch, whining again.

Jazz withdrew his hand. “Behave, pet.”

Behaving was probably the last thing Prowl wanted as Jazz’s fingers returned to his plating, checking the spike inhibitor. Jazz liked being spiked well enough but it wasn’t his favorite thing. Being dominated had long ago ceased being fun for him if it ever had been. He honestly couldn’t remember. He’d also spent too much time being the one pounded into to really get into that anymore, but he could ride a spike if he wanted. Prowl, however, much preferred to be spiked, and Jazz didn’t really feel that he was missing much if Prowl didn’t spike him. He actually liked that Prowl didn’t try to spike him. Then it was always _Jazz’s_ decision what to do with Prowl’s spike and there were much more fun things to do with it. This was one of them. Jazz liked “making” his pet refrain as much as he liked using it for things that weren’t penetration.

A psychologist would no doubt have a field day with it, but Jazz _liked_ the control.

Satisfied, both that the inhibitor was working properly and with the sounds Prowl had made while Jazz toyed with the tiny bit of his spike that peeked out of its casing, he moved on to the toy lodged into his pet’s valve and magnetized to the external mesh. Prowl whined louder.

“Hush,” Jazz scolded. He often threatened to get a true vocal inhibitor, and maybe one of these cycles he would, but he actually liked Prowl’s desperate sounds. Liked the incoherency the gag forced on his pet, where an inhibitor would force him to dignified silence.

The toy was not, from Prowl’s point of view, a very interesting one. It was a simple smooth spike-like shape and only of modest size. Magnetized in place, Prowl couldn’t push back against it, or wiggle, to change the stimulation as it thrust at a steady, regular, slow pace. Again it was not a very interesting sort of stimulation for Prowl, enough to get him wet, but not enough to heighten Prowl’s charge… not until it had been in there for over a joor and the relentless pace started getting painful anyway. Jazz wasn’t sure why Prowl preferred it to hurt when he was being fragged, but it wasn’t a chore to indulge him.

Jazz liked hurting Prowl.

Prowl threw back his head and pressed his blocked valve into Jazz’s hand as hard as he could. He whined again, begging for release.

“Slut,” Jazz said fondly, withdrawing his hand again. “But a pretty slut, all laid out like that.”

Prowl fought the restraints, pulling at the ropes. Futile, and Jazz watched, drinking in the sight. He could have shocked Prowl into submission with the collar, but he preferred to watch him exhaust himself first. He did pull the remote from his subspace, toying with it while he waited. Prowl had a deceptively strong frame which had been further reinforced by armor and such that would let him walk away from a crash that would total most mechs, but Jazz had chosen this couch and built the restraints onto it, with Prowl in mind. It was a beautiful sight watching Prowl flex and strain, showing off that strength when they both knew it would not be enough. If his doors weren’t bound under him, Prowl might have flared and flapped them to give himself leverage. As it was, Jazz saw him twist and his cables strain and stretch.

Jazz nibbled on a gummy speared on the swizzle stick while he waited.

Kliks later, Prowl collapsed back into his strutless sprawl, his strength to fight spent. His frame was running hotter, his struggle bringing him closer to overload but not close enough.

“That wasn’t very smart, pet,” Jazz remarked softly. “What is the rule?” Prowl only squeaked fearfully. “That’s right,” Jazz answered for him. “Pets exist for their masters’ pleasure. If I want to leave you there all _night_ without touching you, you will simply accept it.”

Jazz pressed the button.

_FZZT-crack!_

Prowl let out a scream muffled by the gag.

Jazz _tsked_ and shocked him again.

When he was sure Prowl had learned his lesson about behaving, being a pliant toy, and not fighting, Jazz set the remote aside.

Prowl was trembling, very near overload, but too weak to do more than whimper. The steady, unsatisfying thrusting of the toy in his valve may not have been enough to bring Prowl to this point, but now that Prowl’s valve was sore from the constant pounding it was enough to keep him here.

It would keep him there until Jazz was ready. Pleasant as it was to watch Prowl writhe, he would take his own pleasure soon.

“You’re drooling again,” Jazz remarked as he retrieved the package and sat with it in the chair he’d pulled over from the dining area. He smiled when Prowl whined in embarrassment and twisted his head to hide the line of salivation from view. A useless gesture.

Jazz let him try to hide. Prowl would want to look back at him soon enough, and watching him struggle with his curiosity and mortification was always a bit of a treat.

His drink was getting less and less frothy as the midgrade continued to melt, but the flavors blended together smoothly. Maybe next time he made one of these, he’d paint it onto Prowl and lick it off. Savoring his sip, Jazz popped the second gummy into his mouth then set the glass aside to focus on his package.

He ran his claws over the box a couple of times, just gently making a sound. _Skirrrrrr. Skirrrr._

He chuckled. Prowl had tensed, and Jazz could practically see him trembling with curiosity over just what new thing was in store for him. Well, Jazz didn’t mind if he watched. If he’d wanted it to be a surprise he would have used a blindfold.

His pet resisted curiosity for now though. Jazz wasn’t sure if he was still too embarrassed over the drool to look back this way, or if he had decided he wanted to be surprised by whatever torment Jazz had planned. Jazz was fine with both options, so he didn’t reprimand him. He’d see how much resolve Prowl had in a little bit.

Still making those _skirrrr_ sounds with his claws, Jazz deftly cut through the packing tape. The sounds made Prowl twitch, but he stayed resolute.

Jazz snickered as he loudly pulled the flaps open and started digging into the packing material. The styrofoam packing peanuts squiked and squeaked against each other and Prowl’s twitches were starting to be accompanied by panting and whining. He was still so, sooooo close to overload. If Jazz shocked him again, he’d probably tip over. Jazz wasn’t sure how he wasn’t begging for something, _anything_... well, the gag probably had a lot to do with it. Hehe. And Prowl couldn’t exactly misbehave and solicit punishment when he was tied down like that.

“Ah-hah!” Jazz pulled the smaller box free and discarded the packaging with a clatter. “Finally. This will be perfect.” Jazz ripped into it impatiently.

Prowl finally looked.

Jazz heard his pet’s fans, which were already working overtime, roar loudly as they redlined.

Prowl had been talking about Jazz getting a knot mod for his spike for almost forever. There was almost nothing Prowl enjoyed the physical side of more than taking a huge spike or another object in his valve, feeling it stretch painfully. Jazz had had to finally put a stop to Prowl’s upsizing before he really hurt himself. Prowl _liked_ the pain, so neither of them were sure that he’d stop if an object turned out to be too large for him.

That huge monster of a false spike was the largest thing he could be trusted to self-insert. Jazz had a couple things that were larger which he occasionally would insert into Prowl in certain kinds of very long scenes. It was, frankly, intoxicating to watch Prowl fall into a headspace that was almost unique to being fragged and stretched and fragged and stretched again until he had something the size of his own head stuffed up his valve. By the end of it, he was so pliable and trusting! Laying limp and supple in his restraints, breathing slowly and unable to move even when released, except slowly and when explicitly ordered to. Prowl could crawl around a little with that in him, but he couldn’t walk even if his doors were unbound. And the calipers had to be coaxed closed as slowly as he had been coaxed open, or else he’d feel empty, distressed, and abandoned. It was totally different than the needy, conflicted headspace Jazz saw him in after being humiliated.

It was definitely an emotional and intellectual pleasure for Jazz… but it wasn’t a physical one. Most of the time when he had his pet tied down waiting for him, he wanted to _frag_ Prowl through the mattress! Or through the couch cushions, as the case may be.

Hence the knot mod. If this thing’s online specs were right it’d swell up large enough to give Prowl some sense of being stuffed full, even some pain from the calipers being strained too wide too fast, and it would still be Jazz’s spike doing the stuffing. Nothing like the gigantic toy that took joors of dedication and praise to get in there, but maybe a bit like his huge false spike.

Just to check that this was still okay, Jazz sent Prowl a generalized query over his comsuite and got back an immediate, impatient _green!_ Well then.

Prowl’s whole frame whined as Jazz took the time to read all the instructions, program in the size he wanted the bulb to swell up to and how long he wanted his spike to stay hard after overload.

He took his time stroking and rubbing his spike until it was fully extended. He moaned loudly and smiled when Prowl echoed him softly. He locked gazes with his pet and smiled, showing off his fangs.

“I’m going to take that pretty little valve and ruin it,” he commented between breaths.

Prowl moaned assent. In _want._

When he was hard, he slid the mod into place and plugged it into the housing. He shuddered as it activated and an electric squeezing sensation echoed through his sensor net. That wasn’t exactly pleasant, but Jazz’s vision whited out and he groaned loudly. He might have even overloaded, just a little.

He also might have wobbled a bit as he pushed himself off the chair and to his feet. He finished off his drink then set the glass with its remaining gummy garnish on the floor next to the couch.

“Hello, pet,” Jazz crooned low as he settled on top of Prowl’s scalding frame. Oh yes, Prowl was more than ready for an overload. “Hold still.” He disengaged the magnetic clamp holding the toy in Prowl’s valve and withdrew it slowly. The buildup of lubricant that had been trapped inside him gushed out, spraying them both and Jazz laughed. “Messy,” he scolded lightly and reveled in Prowl’s blush. Even needy and near overload as he was, he could still be embarrassed by his frame’s various mucoids.

“Very messy,” Jazz scolded again, dropping the still-thrusting toy next to the couch. “No one’s valve is that messy unless they want to be fragged like a slut. Are you a slut, pet?”

Prowl shook his head and whined. He didn’t like being called a slut, and he wasn’t really. He’d never strayed from Jazz or their vows. For his part, Jazz had been relieved to finally be able to settle down with a single partner, say vows, and have a safe, secure marriage. To finally have some control over his own body and his partner’s loyalty. Fidelity was a luxury, not a burden. They were happy. They were content. No _cheating._

The idea of sharing Prowl, of sharing _Pet,_ had been a drunken fantasy Jazz had coaxed from Prowl during their private anniversary party. Prowl had been very clear, even while drunk, that it wasn’t a fantasy he expected to ever realize. He filed in his folder of other, similar fantasies, many of which weren’t even physically possible. It was Jazz who hadn’t been able to let it go afterward, and who’d brought it up again once they were sober.

If having enough control over his partner’s sexuality to demand fidelity had been attractive to him, having that _and_ permission to give Prowl away, to make him service others when and where and how _Jazz_ demanded had been… a little heady.

So no, Prowl wasn’t a slut.

That didn’t stop Jazz from calling him one in a scene. “I said,” he growled threateningly, sticking three of his fingers into Prowl’s wet, ready, _demanding_ valve. They made an obscene squelch that made Prowl blush again, and more lubricant oozed out. He flexed them to partially unsheath his claws. Prowl sobbed, futilely tried to squirm away from the hazard to his delicate valve lining. Usually, Jazz would just shock him a few times with the collar, but as close as Prowl was to overload right now that would push him over and Jazz wanted Prowl’s first overload to be squirming on his spike. “Are you a slut, _pet?”_

Prowl pressed his face against the inside of his bound arm, trying to hide his face and his tears. He whined out a wordless, reluctant affirmative.

“Good pet,” Jazz praised, withdrawing his fingers. He wiped them off on Prowl’s chest like the mess irritated him. “That wasn’t so hard. Just the truth.” He settled between Prowl’s spread legs and nudged his valve with his spike. Oh, he was as ready for this as Prowl was. “I can always tell when I’m going to fuck a slut. You have a slut’s needy little valve, don’t you?”

Prowl nodded, hiccuped.

“You want me in it. Anything to be filled.”

Prowl shivered, nodding again. He whined around the gag again.

“Good thing I’m in an indulgent mood, pet.”

Jazz slid his spike into Prowl’s valve in a single fast, smooth stroke. He didn’t bother with gentleness — after a joor being pounded by that toy, Prowl wasn’t in a state to appreciate gentle — but Prowl’s valve was so loose and open and absolutely dripping with lubricant that roughness was lost on him too. He didn’t take any time to adjust and just started pounding Prowl, harder and faster than the toy.

Prowl screamed around the gag. His frame arched beneath Jazz, and lightning crackled around him. Overload.

Jazz grinned. Electricity bit his hands where they braced against Prowl’s chest and shoulders, zinged into Jazz’s spike and he moaned.

It felt weird but _extremely_ pleasurable when the bulb fastened to the base of his spike started to swell up. He could feel it push past Prowl’s outermost ring of calipers, moaned when those inside his valve squeezed on it tightly. Prowl moaned too. He was fighting the restraints again, and despite his own desperate panting, Jazz sent the safeword request. He got a word that started with a blat of static and ended in _\--eeen!_ and considered that good. It wasn’t really fair to expect coherency right as one of his most often asked-for fantasies was being pounded into him.

It was starting to become difficult to keep up his rhythm. Jazz could feel it catching on the edge of Prowl’s valve, making Prowl gasp each time the pace stuttered.

Since this model of knot had a maximum well below the absolute max valve stretch for a cybertronian Prowl’s size, and Jazz had programmed it to stop well below its maximum, Prowl would adjust to it. Probably quickly. It wouldn’t get caught in Prowl’s valve and lock them together. For that, they needed the corresponding mod that restricted how much Prowl’s valve would stretch to accommodate it. One had come with the knot mod, and feeling the press of the knot against the still-tight mesh, Jazz wished he hadn’t been so impatient to try out his half to install Prowl’s in him.

It was still a good stretch and a full, tight feeling. Prowl overloaded again and this time the tense arch of his frame, the sweet _clench_ of his valve, tripped the breakers in Jazz’s frame as well. He _forced_ the knot into the tightened valve, where it swiftly finished growing to the size Jazz had set it for, temporarily locking them together.

“Kyynnnggggahhh!!” Jazz’s shout almost drowned out Prowl’s muffled scream. His hips jerked forward, sliding the plug further into Prowl’s valve and pushing his pet into a third, immediate, overload as Jazz’s transfluid gushed into him.

They collapsed in a heap. Prowl was still squirming, but Jazz felt sleepy and spent.

“Hush,” he commanded getting comfortable. His spike was still hard and would stay that way for another two breems if he’d programmed this thing right, and he didn’t want Prowl pleasuring himself on it like a dildo. Actually using the restriction mod would prevent that in the future, but until then Prowl would have to just lay here, tied up, helpless, impaled on Jazz’s spike and hold himself still. “Well, pet, do you think anyone would want your slutty little valve now?”

Prowl just whined.

Jazz grinned. “You’re _mine._ Now, forever and for all time. I own you.” He thrust his hips forward, making Prowl gasp in pained want. “I own this.”

Prowl smeared his tears with his bound arm and tried to press his face into the side of Jazz’s neck. He whined again.

Feeling indulgent from the fantastic overload, Jazz went ahead and unhooked the gag and dropped it next to the still-thrusting toy on the ground. “Did you want to say something, pet?”

Prowl coughed, then croaked. His vocalizer spat static. “Yours.”

Awww…

“That’s right, pet.” He fished the last gummy out of his discarded drink and slid it into Prowl’s mouth, rewarding him with the sweet little treat. “All mine.”

Prowl nodded, chewed and swallowed, then he pressed his face into Jazz’s neck again. “Hurts.”

 _I bet it does._ Jazz grinned. Prowl’s entire frame probably ached something fierce. The bulk of the pain would be in his shoulders and legs where he fought the ropes, and in his core, in that indescribable place where deep valve aches seemed to affect his entire frame. “I can make it hurt more.”

Prowl sobbed softly, shivering, and Jazz thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, “... please?”

Sleepy and spent he might be, but he could _always_ shock Prowl with the collar.

_FZZT-crack!_

Prowl screamed, this time loud and unmuffled. So much for their quiet night in.

.

.

.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

# Part Two

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

.

.

.

Prowl let out a soft, needy whine when Jazz’s spike finally started to depressurize and he pulled it out of his pet’s valve. He squirmed weakly in his bonds. Jazz petted his cheek and reveled in Prowl’s dim, broken gaze.

“Hurts,” his pet whimpered, pressing his tears into Jazz’s hand.

“I know,” Jazz said, ruthlessly but not unkindly this time. He let Prowl keep his hand, felt himself purr at the touch of the tears, while he released Prowl from the bonds holding him supine and open. “You’re beautiful when you’re hurting, pet.”

Prowl whimpered and took advantage of being free to curl up protectively around his middle, turning his back to Jazz defensively. “I feel empty. It hurts. Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please, master. It’s too empty.”

That wasn’t precisely the request Jazz had been prompting him for, but it was descriptive enough.

Prowl had closed his legs, pressing them together, when he moved, but he opened them readily when Jazz nudged them with his hand. His fingers, then most of his hand, slid in easily and Prowl sighed in relief.

Jazz took his time, caressing and soothing without pushing the calipers wide again. He felt them clench weakly against his plating, lacking the strength to fight against the stretch. He took his time, savoring Prowl’s whimpers and sighs and checking the delicate mesh over for injuries. He knew Prowl’s tolerances pretty well, but the knot had been a new toy so it was worth making sure. He could have just demanded a status report from Prowl on his valve systems, like Ricochet had, and he would later. For now, the knot was a less extreme toy than the barbs were, and given Prowl’s normal habits Jazz was less immediately concerned. He could take the time to check Prowl over manually.

There was no strength at all left in Prowl’s calipers. When Jazz withdrew his hand, that sobbing, terrible emptiness would come rushing back.

Jazz could make Prowl suffer it. He would, at least a little bit. It was such a _pleasure_ to see Prowl sobbing and begging to be touched.

“You’re such a loose, needy thing,” Jazz commented. The words were still humiliating, but his tone was now fond. It was time to shift to praising his pet, preparing them for bed and for Prowl’s resurgence in the morning, but if he shifted the mood too quickly, Prowl would get lost and confused and frightened by the change. “So wet still.”

Prowl murmured a vague agreement. The will to fight or deny Jazz’s words had been shocked out of him.

“Such a slutty little valve, aren’t you?” Jazz kissed one of Prowl’s bound doorwings.

“Slutty little valve,” Prowl repeated diligently now that he was no longer gagged. “Yes. Hurts,” he whimpered.

“I like hurting you.”

Prowl keened softly when Jazz pulled his hand out of his valve. Pain and loss and despair mixed into a single, beautiful sound.

Curiously, Jazz ran one of his lubricant covered fingers around the edge of Prowl’s aft port, then sunk it into him.

Prowl keened again. “Master, no. Please don’t.”

Now, when Jazz was supposed to be building Prowl back up, preparing him to retake control of himself tomorrow, was not the time to push him until he got a red safeword. Not when Prowl hadn’t ever let Jazz do this before, and not when Jazz wasn’t sure he could safeword right now. Later, though, he’d have to ask why it was okay for Ricochet to do this and more, but it wasn’t for Jazz.

Still, to make the point that _he_ was in charge and that he’d take whatever he wanted from Prowl _whenever_ he wanted, Jazz toyed with the port a moment longer before withdrawing.

“Up,” Jazz commanded, slapping the round curve of Prowl’s aft. “Time for food.”

Prowl’s attempt to roll off the couch gracefully onto all fours ended in an awkward crash when his limbs refused to support his weight and the movement made him cry out with pain. Jazz ignored that and led the way to the kitchen.

By the time Prowl had crept into the kitchen after him, his bowl of pet food was already waiting and Jazz was making himself another sweet, slushie cocktail. “What do you say, pet?”

“Thank you, master. You’re very kind, master.”

“Good pet,” Jazz praised the correct answer. Ricochet didn’t like being called a “kind” master, and Jazz had been afraid it’d confuse Prowl but he was remembering the lines and rituals perfectly. “Go ahead and eat.” Jazz added a whole handful of the garnish gummies to his frothy, frozen drink.

Prowl leaned down, spreading his legs for balance, to nibble on the hatchling kibble. His aft was thrust so enticingly into the air and his valve was spread wide and open and it still dripped. He took a bit, then pulled back huddled in on himself so he could close his legs. He sniveled. “It hurts, master. I’m too empty.”

Jazz blinked. This wasn’t in the script, and Prowl seldom deviated. After being humiliated and fragged so very raw, Prowl normally wanted a few moments to recover without being touched, and mealtime was an excellent time for a break. But the knot had elements of the large object scenes, where after Prowl felt needy and abandoned if his valve was left empty and his calipers had nothing to rest against.

He had been planning on torturing Prowl with that emptiness for just a little longer, but if it was bad enough that his pet was asking…

“I’m a slut,” Prowl continued, begging and mewling, “and my valve is loose and wet and I’m bad for being such a needy pet, but please, master, it hurts. I’ll--”

“Hush,” Jazz commanded, bringing the debasing monologue to an end. He started digging through the kitchen drawers. “My poor, beautiful pet. Am I so unkind to you?”

Prowl trembled. The obvious answer was yes, that Jazz was being unkind. Prowl rarely had to _ask_ for anything, and now Prowl was begging for something he didn’t know would be given to him. But that was also a ritual question, one with a right and a wrong answer. If he answered wrongly, he’d be punished. Sometimes he wanted that.

“No,” Prowl finally whispered, denying Jazz the opportunity to punish this time. “You are a wonderful, kind master. A needy slut with a too-empty valve is lucky to have you?” he trailed off hopefully.

Jazz laughed. Sass? Only slightly, and it was a good sign that Prowl was still feeling good-conflicted, not actually debased and ignored. At this point in their game Jazz was willing to reward it. “Yes, you are, my pet. Very lucky and very mine.” He found the whisk he’d been looking for and tested its girth and sturdiness. He wouldn’t use this as a normal dildo substitute, but he didn’t want to break the flow by going into the living room to get one right now. Weak and stretched open as Prowl’s calipers were right now, it’d do. “Aft up and spread your legs, pet, and let me see your slutty little valve then.”

Prowl looked at what Jazz was brandishing and whined. Jazz felt his EM field color with mortification. Yes, he was going to have this whisk stuffed up his valve and he was going to _like_ it.

He leaned forward onto his elbows and pressed his chevron to the floor, spreading his legs. Jazz tested his valve, found it hadn’t really tightened up at all, and slid the whisk in until it was buried deep and the handle stuck out just enough that Jazz could grab it again. Prowl moaned. In relief, yes, but there was a broken, desperate note to it that made Jazz make a note to himself to try the whisk on himself later to see what it felt like.

The whisk wasn’t really a solution. It was big enough that it wouldn’t let Prowl’s calipers tighten up and recover, but it made for a good stop-gap until they moved onto the next phase of this half-aftercare, half-continuing scene.

Jazz tweaked the end. “What do you say, pet?”

“Thank you, master. You’re a kind master.”

“Right. Now eat up.”

This time Prowl ate without complaining about pain or emptiness. He didn’t complain, either, about the shame of eating out of a pet bowl on the floor with a kitchen tool stuffed up his valve, but Jazz knew he was feeling it. He ate quickly and neatly and flinched every time Jazz made some sort of appreciable noise. Not wanting to disturb him too much, Jazz kept the commentary to a minimum and just watched, sipping on his own drink.

No more sex for at least half a joor. That was fine. Jazz would take him again tonight, but it didn’t need to be immediately. It’d give Prowl’s valve some time to recover. “Ready to clean up?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Couch first. Go lay down, supine.”

Prowl made a noise of confusion. This wasn’t in the script. But he obeyed. Jazz followed, pulling the box of sex toys out from under its table to find the ones he wanted.

It was a set of seven. Brightly colored, they were soft silicone and in their case, they were lined up from largest to smallest. The largest was only slightly smaller than the knot had been; the smallest was barely the width of one finger. Unlike most false spikes, these were wider at the deep end, shaped almost like a raindrop or a lightbulb, with a thin string-loop on the handle in case the mech pulled it all the way inside.

They were specifically for the last stages of helping Prowl recover from his large object scenes.

Prowl had put himself back into position to be tied up. “Good pet,” Jazz praised, though any position that gave him access to his valve would have worked.

He pulled the whisk out of Prowl and dropped it on the floor with the other sex toys to be cleaned and sanitized later. Prowl moaned. Then he selected one of the silicone raindrop shaped toys. Since the object was to help Prowl close his valve back up, not to keep him open, he selected one that was quite a bit smaller than the whisk, though still substantial.

He covered it with an artificial lube before inserting it. It glided in without resistance.

“There,” he said, petting Prowl’s plush folds. He watched Prowl’s calipers work around the end, clenching weakly. “Do you feel full enough to clean us up, you slutty thing?”

Prowl squirmed. “Yes.”

“Keep it inside you. I will whip you severely if it falls out.” Prowl liked pain, but he didn’t like being whipped as much as he liked being shocked. It was still a punishment he could get off to, but it wasn’t one he’d court deliberately.

Fortunately, the strange shape of these toys meant it would be easier for him to keep it inside his valve. These were meant to be kept there, to comfortably rest against the entrance of the gestation sack and not fall out. The only difficulty was how weak Prowl’s calipers were right now.

To emphasize the threat (and because they couldn’t take the shock collar into the bath), Jazz went ahead and changed out the one collar for a softer, more comfortable one which Prowl could wear to sleep.

He toyed with the necklace that held Prowl’s ownership tags. Those would not be coming off until tomorrow when Prowl felt ready to be Jazz’s equal again.

“Up. Go draw a bath. I want your itchy fluids off my plating.”

Jazz brought the rest of the raindrop-dildo set with him to the bathing room. He’d switch them out for the smaller size periodically until Prowl was able to close himself up without feeling like emptiness was The Worst Thing Ever. Prowl crawled along slowly, but stronger now that he had some fuel in him.

Jazz finished up his drink while he watched Prowl draw the bath. This was also a ritual, a routine. They’d struggled at first to find the right balance between comfort and continuing to “mistreat” Prowl. Too gentle, too attentive, too much spoiling, would give him whiplash and he’d end up in a corner, hiding from everything and crashing hard. On the other hand, Jazz didn’t want to worsen any aches or genuinely strained cables by forcing Prowl into a cold dip. He _wanted_ Prowl to have a nice hot bath, wrap him into a fluffy and warm towel, and then tuck him into a nice soft bed. He wanted to start telling Prowl how good, how perfect a pet he was, but Prowl couldn’t take that yet.

At first, he’d compromised by giving Prowl a bucket of hot water to clean up with. It was just a bucket, and Prowl had been forced to be quick and sparing and always made an embarrassing mess, but it was warm and Jazz could sneak some relaxants into the water to help with any aches. Slowly they’d morphed to this.

 _This_ was _Jazz’s_ bath, and he demanded only the best. Hot water, soothing scented soap, soft cloths, and softer brushes. Bubbles. Prowl huddled on the cold floor tile, pressing himself against the side of the tub for warmth, and Jazz ignored his discomfort for the moment. In a breem or two, he’d “force” Prowl to enter the bath and attend to him.

“Sit up, pet.” When Prowl did so, Jazz deftly removed the spike inhibitor. Prowl cried out as his long-neglected spike fully extended painfully fast. “You remember the rule?”

“Pets don’t use their spikes,” Prowl recited between gasps. He would have to simply wait for it to recede naturally. Meanwhile, it was going to be painfully oversensitive and demanding and Prowl would be fighting his renewed arousal while he did his pre-bath chores. If he managed to get himself under control, perfect; if not, also perfect, since then Jazz would order him to pleasure him in the bath.

Unlike Prowl, Jazz didn’t have an implant to prevent conception. He didn’t think he had any budded sparks waiting for a contribution of transfluid right now, but there was always a possibility.

Mindful that this care/scene had some extra steps now, Jazz ordered him to spread his legs and expose his valve long enough for him to change out the toy lodged in there for the next size down in the set. Prowl moaned.

“Hurts.”

Jazz tested the hold Prowl’s calipers had on the toy. They were loose but managed to grasp at the smaller toy with effort. Recovering. “My poor pet. All sore and tired. I could leave you empty instead.”

“No. This is good.” Prowl cowered.

“Good. Go collect up all the toys we used, bring them in here, and put them in the sink. Then clean them.” That wasn’t always the chore he gave Prowl, but they’d used enough toys this time that it was a good one. Jazz smacked his aft to get him moving, and he yelped. He scurried out.

Jazz watched him as he sank through the mounds of fluffy white bubbles and into the hot water beneath. Oooh, nice. Prowl was scuttling around on all fours since his doors were still bound and he couldn’t stand, but he was managing.

Since he couldn’t stand, Prowl had to pull himself up to the sink awkwardly by his arms to dump the toys in. They clattered into a heap.

Jazz had told him to wash them, but, “Leave them there. Come here and wash me.”

Gratefully, Prowl left the impossible task of standing at the sink to finish cleaning to crawl into the warm bath with Jazz. They weren’t done getting toys dirty anyway. Prowl still had several more raindrop dildos to go through before he was recovered, and Jazz wasn’t done with this knot.

Prowl had calmed his arousal and closed up his panel over his spike so Jazz didn’t order him to pleasure him and simply started giving instructions for cleaning him up.

“You’re such a good pet,” Jazz moaned while Prowl washed his back and massaged his shoulders. He felt Prowl’s EM field blush in shy pleasure and knew he could finally almost completely transition away from the humiliating language soon. “So good. I think I’m going to keep you forever.”

Prowl cooed.

“Speak up when I’m talking to you!” Pets weren’t allowed to speak unless spoken to, true, but now was not the time to let Prowl go nonverbal.

“I would like that,” Prowl whispered. “I want to be kept.”

“A perfect pet like you? Of course, you want to be kept,” Jazz asserted. “You were so very neglected when I found you, like a kitten in the rain.”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would be perfect though,” Jazz assured. He turned and kissed Prowl deeply, pushing him to lay back in the bath. One of the abandoned raindrop dildos rolled across the bottom of the tub, pushed out of the way by the water. Jazz flailed for the glass and found the swizzle stick spearing several of the gummies. He pressed one into Prowl’s mouth affectionately. The sweet made his pet moan. “Everyone else thought you were at that club to watch that delicate little femme get punished by her dom, but I knew better.”

“You are a very good and kind master,” Prowl answered, clinging to Jazz’s shoulders. That deserved another treat and he got one.

“I can be.” Jazz kissed him again. “I can punish you, but I can also be very kind when you behave. Should I be kind now? Are you going to behave?”

“Yesss…” Prowl moaned. He spread his legs and wrapped them eagerly around Jazz’s waist. Well, that was clear enough. Fortunately, this was exactly what Jazz wanted too.

Jazz pulled the dildo out of Prowl’s valve and pushed his spike in. There was some resistance since Prowl was now down to carrying the thinner toys, but this time Jazz was slow and gentle. He wanted to see Prowl undone by pleasure.

He was probably still sore, but that was a perk as he writhed and moaned on Jazz’s spike, coming undone all over again.

“Jazz…” he panted, and Jazz did not punish him for slipping up this time. “Jazz. Jazz. Jazz.”

It was harder for Jazz to build a proper charge in the water. Prowl soon overloaded, but Jazz did not. Fine with that for now, Jazz washed out Prowl’s valve then replaced his spike with the thinnest raindrop dildo.

“Go dry off, pet. I don’t want water in my bed.” It was _their_ bed, but like with the bath, Jazz couldn’t “spoil” Prowl just yet. Therefore Prowl, the pet, had to be _allowed_ into _Jazz’s_ bed instead of sending Prowl to their shared one.

Jazz drained the tub and dropped the discarded raindrop dildos into the sink with the other toys while Prowl got a towel that had been set aside on the cold counter for him. Jazz’s towel came from the warmed cabinet, where they usually kept all the towels. He also scooped up the discarded cocktail glass and split the remaining gummies with Prowl, caressing his lips with them, while they dried.

Before throwing his towel into the hamper he rubbed his spike with it, making sure it was dry and fully extended for his planned finale for the evening.

“Up,” Jazz commanded when Prowl hesitated between struggling into the berth or pulling the large pet pillow out from under it. “I’m not done with you tonight.”

That took care of the indecision. He was definitely allowed on the bed if he was servicing his master.

Jazz flopped into the bed and flung the covers aside. He lounged back on the pillows and spread his legs to let his spike thrust upward into the air. He watched Prowl struggle to clamber up onto the sheets. He patted the space between his legs.

“I’m going to knot that pretty mouth of yours, pet.” Prowl had been talking and fantasizing about that for almost as long as he’d been talking about knotting in general.

Prowl squeaked. _Green,_ he pinged before Jazz could ask.

“Then suck.”

Prowl eagerly bent himself to his newest task. Jazz didn’t bother restraining himself, but he also didn’t hold Prowl down as he thrust upward into his wet, hot mouth. Primus, Prowl had a good mouth!

That was such a good thought, Jazz went ahead and said it out loud. “Primus, pet. You have such a good mouth.”

Prowl’s EM field blushed in pleasure.

“Take the whole thing,” Jazz coaxed, rather than forcing his spike down Prowl’s throat as he might have earlier in the scene. “I want to feel it lock into your tight little lips.” Prowl swallowed, possibly nervously, and Jazz let out a “Nnuuggh!” at the wave of tightness and suction.

If Jazz had wanted a moment to recover (he didn’t), he would have had to order Prowl to stop. His pet took his reaction as encouragement and finished swallowing Jazz’s whole spike.

The charge that Jazz hadn’t been able to build up in the bath came roaring to the forefront. The knot responded and started to swell. Prowl squeaked again, on the edge of protesting but since Prowl liked being used and it didn’t come with a safeword Jazz ignored him. He rocked his hips and when Prowl started to scramble back, catching his teeth on the sensitive knot, Jazz gave in and held his pet down to take his pleasure.

Thrusting against the back of Prowl’s throat, Jazz rolled the bulb at the base of his spike against his pet’s tongue. Prowl was using his tongue to push feebly at the massive intruder until it was pressed down flat on the bottom of his mouth by the growing knot.

Prowl tried to cough, but the attempt stuttered out his secondary air vents. His mouth was otherwise occupied.

“Finally something _tight,”_ Jazz moaned. He couldn’t even rock his hips anymore with how tight it was. Prowl’s valve was a lot of really great things, but even when thrusting into it dry it wasn’t _tight_ anymore. Prowl whined and pushed weakly against Jazz’s legs with his hands.

It was an obscene picture of helplessness Prowl made. His optics were wide and blank and glowed brightly. His mouth, oh Primus, his _mouth._ It was stretched indecently wide around Jazz’s overlarge mod. He couldn’t even bite. It was like he was gagged again. It was like shoving that ball gag into his mouth for the very first time and watching Prowl struggle with it… Jazz overloaded, and Prowl choked again as transfluid filled up his throat.

“Get comfortable,” Jazz ordered as he sagged back against the pillows. He was slurring a bit, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Prowl was still helpless on his spike and Jazz very much liked that. Maybe next time, instead of keeping him hard and knotted for just a couple of breems, he’d program the mod to keep Prowl writhing and stuck for _joors._ “Gonna be here for a bit, pet.”

He pulled the pre-heated blankets over Prowl as they adjusted arms and legs and Prowl’s head so that they were both comfortable. Prowl whined.

“Hush,” Jazz ordered, tucking them both in and petting Prowl’s head. “You’re mine. I’ll do whatever I want.”

It was a heady thought. More intoxicating for how true it wasn’t than for how true it was.

Two breems, close to eighteen kliks, later, Jazz’s spike deflated and he pulled out of Prowl’s mouth. Oral fluid and transfluid dribbled out of Prowl’s slack, probably sore, jaw. Jazz waited for a klik for Prowl to notice, notice Jazz watching him, and duck his head in embarrassment, but it didn’t come. Prowl had fallen asleep.

“Aww…” he whispered, petting the recharging submissive. That had never happened before. Well, okay. Using a cloth from their nightstand, Jazz cleaned up Prowl’s mouth and face. Then he pulled the lax frame up so that they would be laying side by side. He spread Prowl’s legs and removed the dildo from him and wiped away that mess, then unbound his doorwings.

He tucked them both, warm and clean and safe, under the blankets and pulled Prowl into his arms.

“Best Pet Ever,” he whispered possessively, then let himself follow Prowl into recharge. There was more tomorrow, but sleep came first.

.

.

.

End


End file.
